


soft in the silence

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, post 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ian's bruised by things mickey cannot see, by monsters he cannot fight. that's just how it goes. but if there's one thing he knows, it's that he can take care of ian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	soft in the silence

**Author's Note:**

> requested by **anon** as part of the [angst prompt meme](http://distractedpainter.tumblr.com/post/82169288531/another-angsty-starters-meme) on tumblr ("Don’t listen to them. Don’t you EVER listen to them.")

Mickey’s taking a break from watching Yevgeny when Ian gets home. He can hear Yev babbling away to Svetlana in the other room, and he’s so caught up in a magazine article on killer whales, of all things, that he almost doesn’t hear Ian come in.

Ian stomps his boots a few times in the front hall, which startles Mickey away from the magazine. He looks up at Ian as he enters the living room.

“Hey,” Mickey says.

Ian’s eyebrows are knitted across his forehead and Mickey has the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and smooth them, to run his hands over Ian’s face to make sure that he’s real, he’s here, he’s safe. He doesn’t. Ian’s been looking much more worried, too much for Mickey’s liking, after the day Mickey couldn’t get him out of bed, after words like  _bipolar_  and  _depressed_  and  _manic_  began to weigh down on Ian’s spine. The carefree kid, the one that thought anything was possible, that  _they_  were possible, the fuckin’ optimist with rough edges, the boy that Mickey fell in love with has hidden away, but he’s always loved any version of Ian, he doesn’t think anything could make him stop.

Ian taught him how to do that, anyways.

He lifts a hand in greeting. “Mickey,” he adds, and his voice is tired and small. Mickey stands up and puts his arms around Ian’s shoulders, leads him to the couch and pushes him down against the cushions. He sinks into them, his eyes sliding closed, and Mickey joins him on the other end of the couch.

“What’s up?” Mickey asks, because it’s not hard to tell that something’s wrong. Possibilities run through Mickey’s mind, and they make his blood run cold. “Tough day?”

Ian sighs, like he has the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders. Maybe he does.

“Overheard a couple guys at the bar call me crazy,” he says quietly. He doesn’t look up at Mickey.

Mickey’s heart drops to his stomach and a flash of anger travels up his spine. He wants to lash out, but he’s been working on not getting too angry, on not letting people get to him so quickly. Those shitheads at the bar probably deserve a good beating, but Mickey isn’t that guy anymore. He takes a deep breath and forces a smile.

“Yeah, crazy-nice ass, maybe.”

That makes Ian smile a little, makes the corners of his mouth tick upwards, but it’s nothing close to his real smile. Mickey realizes that humor isn’t gonna do much. Not tonight.

“Ian,” he tries instead. “Those assholes don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Don’t listen to them. Don’t you ever listen to them. Got it?”

Ian nods slowly. He slides against the back of the couch until his head is firmly in Mickey’s lap, and a year ago, it would’ve made Mickey want to run away, the way it’s so natural and gentle and they’re in the middle of his goddamn living room, but Mickey’s come a long way since then, and he doesn’t run anymore.

He curls his hands in Ian’s hair, because he can.

“Hey, Mickey?”

“What?” he says indignantly. This whole thing has him fired up, his teeth on edge, and even Ian’s head in his lap can’t completely calm him down.

“Thanks,” replies Ian, his voice faint and muffled against the fabric of Mickey’s jeans. “For, you know.” The words seem to get stuck in his throat. Mickey knows what that feels like, to have the things you can’t say lodged in your throat like a knife, and he puts a hand on Ian’s knee, because words were never very important to them anyways. It was always the shit they did, always how they looked at each other, always the way they kissed, instead. “For everything.”

Mickey waves him off with his other hand. “Okay, yeah,” he says. “‘Course, dumbass.”

And that gets a small smile out of Ian, the kind that makes Mickey’s pulse flutter against the fragile skin on the inside of his wrist, like a butterfly trapped in a cage. The smile stays on Ian’s lips as he dozes off against Mickey’s leg, his breath tickling a small strip of skin on Mickey’s stomach where his shirt has ridden up. Mickey runs his hands through Ian’s soft hair and snow falls outside and his heart beats pitifully against his ribs.

Svetlana enters the room after a few minutes.

Her eyes roam over them, and Mickey stares her down, because they might be sorta friends now, but he still has a hard time letting everyone see the way he is with Ian. The house is quiet, now, like it always gets after a certain hour of night, and Mickey decides to say _fuck it,_  and keeps playing with Ian’s hair.

“He okay?” Svetlana finally asks, her voice softer than normal.

Mickey thinks she always seems nicer when she’s around Yevgeny, all her tough layers stripped away until she is someone less terrifying, someone who cares deeply. She’d kill for that kid, but he makes her eyes soften around the edges and her face light up. It baffled Mickey, at first, the way she could just become a different person around the people she loved, until Ian pointed out that Mickey was kinda like that too. He couldn’t help but look at her differently after that.

“Yeah,” Mickey says slowly. “He had a long day. He’s tired.”

Svetlana nods. “Yevgeny is asleep too.”

“Good. You need help with him in the morning?”

“Please,” she answers, and then she points a finger at Ian. “You should move Orange Boy to bed. Couch is too small for giant limbs. He will hurt.”

“I know,” Mickey says, “I know,” as he gently shakes Ian awake and leads him towards the safety of their dark bedroom.

He doesn’t know how to fix Ian, he doesn’t know how to protect him from the raging assholes of the world, he doesn’t know how to make Ian feel like himself again. He does, however, know how to take care of him, he knows how to stay and fight, and he knows how to curl up with Ian on their bed and show him that he’s loved.


End file.
